On a Learning Curve

Life may not be easy, but it's always an adventure.


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A Labor Day of love

School is well under way in our household, and I’m not teaching. Not yet anyway. And I won’t be teaching anyone whose last name is Ford.

That’s a new thing for everyone, and the first three weeks have gone as well as or better than we anticipated. G still doesn’t love going to school, but she’s relieved to be past her freshman year. Her guidance counselor is pretty fantastic, too, and sent me a note that she hand-picked G’s teachers. I’ve already informed Ryan that we probably need to send her flowers.

H loves the social aspect of school and waivers between loving and hating the rest of school. She survived an embarrassing moment in PE, learned how to unlock her locker, and applied to be part of the SCA because she wants to remove the graffiti in the girls’ bathrooms,  She just finished the first round of standardized testing and informs me that math is too easy. I’ll take that as a thank you for six years of teaching her math.

S, on the other hand, is thrilled to be in school. She loves what’s she’s learning even when she’s not sure it’s the best use of her time. She is wise beyond her years though. After her first day of school, she informed me that she had made a bookmark, taken a personality quiz to find her spirit animal, and learned how to sit in a line with her PE squad. She was rather dismayed and disappointed about the lack of academic pressure.

“Welcome to public school, kiddo,” was my response. I then nicely explained why they had done those things and commiserated with her, too.

What’s going really well is managing S’s diabetes and this is what prompted me to write. When we started the registration process six months ago, we envisioned a fairly smooth transition from homeschooling to middle school. After all, it had taken us just two days to get Grace enrolled at the high school last year, so how hard could it be to put two kids in middle school?

Well, it turned out to be hard. The school didn’t want to accept the standardized test scores that I had been submitting to the county as proof of the girls’ academic process, so I brought the girls to the school for more testing. Then I brought the girls to the school to choose their classes and meet the 504 coordinator. Then S’s doctor filled out her diabetes paperwork. Then I took the girls to the pediatrician to prove that they were vaccinated and fill in any gaps in their records. Then we waited for meetings and schedules. With two days until the start of school, H still didn’t have a sixth grade schedule, and S still didn’t have a 504 Plan to manage her diabetes. Everyone was feeling the stress.

And then God showed up–of maybe that’s when I finally noticed that He answered our prayers in ways that I hadn’t thought to ask. With 46 hours to go, H’s schedule popped up online, and H was able to calm down, which meant I was able to calm down, too. With 21 hours to go, I sat down at a table with nine teachers, an assistant principal, and the school nurse. Sixty minutes later, S had a legal document, her teachers had shown appropriate concern, the new 504 coordinator made sure I was comfortable, and the school nurse showed everyone her CGM.

Yes, the school nurse has diabetes and wears some of the same devices that S wears. And God is good. Not because either the nurse or S has diabetes, and I do not want to imply in any way that God gave the nurse diabetes. Instead I point out His goodness in that He brought this woman and my daughter together this year. Type 1 diabetes has no cure–yet–and I struggle with what I can and cannot control. I cannot control S’s diabetes, but I can try my best. I cannot control her safety and well-being, but I can rest easier knowing that her nurse understands my struggle and S’s struggle.

I predict that we will send flowers to the nurse, too.

Last weekend I drove S back and forth to Lynchburg for a Labor Day soccer tournament. It was hot and miserable, and S was disappointed with her team’s second-place finish. But she was also elated over scoring a goal on a penalty kick. What she wasn’t expecting was that Ryan would call me and let me know that her beloved Dumbo rat had died while she was gone.

I waited until we had finished eating dinner before I told her the news. Then I braced myself for the emotional onslaught. Instead S surprised me. With her lip quivering, she told me, “Mom, I’m not going to be sad. She was such a good rat that it’s better to have enjoyed her while she was alive than to be sad now.”

S holding Suki earlier this summer

Ugh. Why do kids have to be so smart sometimes? And how do they grow up without us noticing? No matter what I say when I am most frustrated and frazzled, I sure do love these kids.

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